August, 1922 
The Queensland Naturalist. 
93 
followed by fourteen months’ study of the northland, during 
most of which time he lived among the wild blacks in the 
valley of the Herbert. As a matter of course, there is 
much of ornithological, as well as ethnological, value in 
Lumholtz ’s book. The homestead at Gracemere, according 
to an illustration in his work, looked precisely the same 
forty years ago as it does now; but it would seem that birds 
were more plentiful on the fine mere in those days than 
they are at present, though the big lake has long been a 
sanctuary. 
“Not many years ago,” says Lumlioltz, “Mr. A. 
Archer counted thirty-seven species of birds on the lagoon. 
He believes that a few years ago there were 10,000 birds 
on the lake.” The most striking bird Lumholtz saw there 
was the Parra, or Lotus-bird. He wondered how the 
young ones could disappear so quickly, until one day (he 
says) a couple that he surprised dived under water and 
held themselves fast to the bottom, while he “watched 
them for a quarter of an hour before taking them up.” 
The most valuable portion of Lumholtz \s book, how- 
ever, is that dealing with the far North. He has many 
important observations on birds restricted to such rich 
regions as the valley of the Herbert River, and shows a 
healthy appreciation of the relief provided by all “sounds 
and sweet airs,” from the “jubilant, happy voice” of the 
“Towdala” ( Orth onyx spaldingi) to the “thundering call 
of the Cassowary,” which latter jungle-monarch he 
describes as “the stateliest bird in Australia.” 
Mention of a blacks’ name for a bird (“Towdala”) 
recalls a good story told by Lumholtz. He relates that a 
certain settler, who was out after Emus, accosted a native 
with the query, “You bin see ’im tshuJcki-tshukki big 
fellow?” The heathen in his blindness regarded his 
questioner in silence for a moment, and then replied with 
dignity, “I suppose you mean an Emu!” A touch of 
civilisation, however, apparently did not affect the appetite 
of the average aboriginal, for Lumholtz records later that 
one of his Northern “boys” ate fourteen Tallegalla eggs 
(each about three times the size of a hen’s egg) in two 
hours, “and felt no inconvenience therefrom.” 
We come now to A. J. Campbell, of Victoria, a dis- 
tinguished living ornithologist, and one whose fondness for 
the Rockingham Hay district has led him to pay several 
visits there. Mr. Campbell, who has been at the head of 
Australian cabinet and field ornithology for many years, 
was first at Cardwell in 1885 (in company with A. and F. 
Coles, of Melbourne, and A. Gulliver, of Townsville) and 
